Always When it Rains
by Karen1121
Summary: Piko discovers a piece of his brother Ausgris's past through a seemingly ordinary activity.


**A Quick Explanation:**

 **All of my writing is heavily influenced by my headcanons, and this work is no exception. Therefore, I think a brief explanation is necessary.**

 **First off, if you're wondering who Ausgris is, they're a potential Vocaloid currently being produced by VocaTone! Be sure to check out their beta demo!**

 **As for headcanons, I know that Ausgris is agender, but I headcanon them as male and will be using male pronouns in this story. I also headcanon Piko is a robot built by Ausgris to keep them company.**

 **PLEASE NOTE: I also headcanon these two to have a brother-like relationship. This is not a ship fic. Please do not bring your ships here.**

 **If you are familiar with my other works, this story takes place before the events in "Silenced"** (s/12750118/1/Silenced) **so Ausgris isn't mute yet.**

 **Okay, that should be all you need to know to understand what's going on. I hope you enjoy~**

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Piko poked his head around the doorway and scanned the room. As expected, Ausgris was sitting at his workbench, engrossed in repairing the brake-light for his motorcycle.

His old radio crackled softly beside him, and a cat lounged lazily in his lap. The radio was playing some lively swing tune, but Piko had never cared much for old—or, rather, classic—music.

Piko tapped lightly on the door-frame. "Auggie?"

"Mmm?" came the distracted reply. Ausgris didn't look up.

"If you're not too busy, could you help me for a second? I think I dislocated my thumb."

The brake-light landed on the workbench with a crunch. The cat hissed at the noise and scurried away, but Ausgris was too busy scrambling to his feet. "Oh my gosh, are you okay?"

"Whoa, yeah, I'm fine. I just can't re-attach it myse—"

Piko stopped. He broke into a snide smirk as he watched Ausgris's face flood with red. "Auggie..." he grinned, "did you forget I'm a—"

"No, no, of course not—!" Ausgris sputtered. His lips curled sheepishly as he ran a hand through his hair. "I just—Don't say things like that! You scared me!"

"Sorry." Piko chuckled lightly and sat down beside him.

"Well, anyway," Ausgris pressed, "lemme see your thumb."

Piko pulled up his sleeve and laid his left hand on the workbench. All of his fingers looked perfectly fine, but his thumb clung desperately to his wrist by a few thick wires. The exposed inner circuits popped with electricity.

"You'll need to de-activate it first," Ausgris reminded him.

Piko slid his good hand along his forearm until he found a small groove. Pressing it, he opened the narrow control panel on his arm and flicked the switch inside to off before closing the panel again. Instantly, the dull feedback from his motor receptors ceased. It was always such a strange sensation—like his hand was floating weightlessly.

Ausgris adjusted his glasses, pushing the center up the bridge of his nose, and held Piko's hand up to inspect it closely. With no feeling in his hand at all, Piko almost imagined that he was merely spectating Ausgris repair someone else's arm. "How did you manage this?" Ausgris asked, interrupting Piko's daydream.

"I, uh, kind of slammed it in the front door. One of your cats tripped me when I was coming in."

"Oh, sure, blame the cat," Ausgris smirked. He opened a drawer and fumbled around for a few seconds, finally retrieving a small soldering iron.

"Hey! If you wouldn't let them wander everywhere, these things wouldn't happen!"

"It's okay to admit you're just clumsy."

Piko jabbed Ausgris with his good hand, but Ausgris only laughed. "Kidding, kidding! Now hold still."

Piko froze obediently, watching Ausgris twist the wires back together and prep them for soldering. It was slow work, but Piko wasn't in much of a hurry.

The radio seemed eager to fill the gap in conversation, surging in another catchy tune. After a minute, though, the song ended and a sickening voice from someone who had obviously drunk too much coffee that morning started to educate them on used cars. Ausgris switched the radio off.

As he waited, Piko remembered another question he'd been pondering. "Hey, Auggie?"

"Mmm?"

"Where do humans come from?"

Ausgris's eyes bulged slightly. "Uhh... what?"

Piko ignored his reaction. "It's from their parents, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Ausgris coughed. He adjusted his glasses again and inspected his work. "Why do you ask?"

Piko paused. When he found his voice again, it was quieter than usual. "Do you have parents?"

Ausgris suddenly became very absorbed in his work. "I... did."

"Did?"

"...Yeah."

Again Piko hesitated. He was loathe to upset Ausgris, but the curiosity burning inside him was too strong to ignore. "What happened?"

"I don't wanna talk about it."

"Did they die?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it."

Piko nodded and cast his gaze on the floor.

It was quiet.

After a minute, he stole a glance at Ausgris, who didn't look at him. Before Piko could say anything, Ausgris sighed with satisfaction. "There, that should do it." He put his tools aside and gestured to Piko's hand. "See if that works."

Piko opened the control panel again and flicked the switch. Electricity raced down his arm, spilling into his hand with a sharp, tingling sensation. He flexed his thumb gingerly, and it responded with ease.

Ausgris watched with a smile, leaning back in his chair. "Good as new!" he proclaimed.

"Thanks, Auggie." Piko kept testing his hands, first one and then the other, to see if there was any difference. They felt practically the same, albeit the left was slightly stiffer.

Once again, he opened his mouth to speak but was quickly interrupted. "Now try not to be so clumsy," Ausgris grinned, a glint of mischief in his eyes.

"Tell that to your cats!" Piko huffed.

Ausgris began cleaning up, and Piko stood to let him get back to his work. Though the question still burned on his tongue, Piko bit it back. Maybe another time.

* * *

That afternoon, the storm that had been threatening all day finally came. Rain pattered softly on the window panes, gliding down in streams like ribbons. The tiny flecks beat like fairy drums against the glass in their own ethereal song.

Piko glanced up at the soft noise. He closed his laptop and walked over to the door, but he stopped before he crossed the threshold. As he had expected, the familiar sight of Ausgris's bulky coat sitting on the couch met his view.

Just like always, Piko thought to himself. He waited, his feet lifting ever so slightly on tip-toe for a better view. Ausgris always played when it rained.

At last, the warm hum of guitar strings weaved through the air. Ausgris's head swayed casually to the beat, lost in his own song. The guitar's clear voice mixed with the hushed whisper of the rain, and the room seemed transformed into a tiny concert hall.

Piko hesitated in the doorframe. Finally, he made a few steps forward. Ausgris didn't hear him approach.

Piko quietly slipped onto the couch beside him, trying not to shatter the moment. Ausgris looked up with a bit of surprise. He smiled back, though, and continued playing. He mouthed the words to some made-up song, bobbing his head to the beat. Occasionally he would pause and reposition his fingers, trying to remember how to form the chords, but the rain pressed on as though encouraging him to continue.

Piko closed his eyes; as long as he could remember, this had been their routine. The rain would come, and Ausgris would cast his spell with his guitar.

After he finished what sounded like a chorus of some kind, Ausgris stopped and repositioned his capo. His fingers climbed and halted on the strings, apparently trying to figure out a more difficult chord.

He adjusted his glasses and started to play again, but the rhythm was more stilted than before. "Y'know," he began suddenly, and Piko opened his eyes. Ausgris spoke without looking at Piko, still half in his own world. "I was thinking about what you said earlier," he admitted, "and I remember you asked me once why I play when it rains."

Piko sat up a little straighter and gave a slight nod.

"I think I said no reason," Ausgris continued, his eyes looking around as if the memory was hidden somewhere on one of the shelves. He swallowed. "That's… not exactly true."

A flicker of a smile played on his lips. Ausgris looked down at his guitar, but his eyes were somewhere else far away. "She used to love dancing," he murmured. "My mom, I mean."

The words struck Piko in his chest. All his questions threatened to spill out of his mouth, but he clamped it shut and waited.

Ausgris was quiet for a minute. He gazed out the window and softly strummed his guitar to the beat of the rain. The drops seemed obviously loathe to keep the two in silence, but they were a welcome intrusion. The whole room felt wrapped in a soft blanket of sound.

Just when Piko began to despair that Ausgris had abandoned the conversation, he spoke again. "She loved dancing," he repeated. "She did it all the time. Getting ready in the morning, making dinner—even in the car." His song changed. A slow, melancholy tune, tinged with light.

"My dad was such a bad dancer," he added, a quiet laugh bubbling in his throat. "But he loved watching my mom dance.

"She always used to tell me this story about one of their first dates. They were walking home from a movie, and they got caught in the rain. She started running for the car, but my dad just started laughing. He started singing her favorite song right there in the parking lot. And dancing. My mom loved it. She said they danced until they were so wet they almost slipped a dozen times.

"She would tell me that every time it rained," he smiled. "And she'd dance just like they did that night."

He stopped playing. Ausgris removed his glasses and gave a muffled sniff. As he rubbed them carefully on his shirt, Piko thought he saw a crystal drop splash on the glass. Piko scooted a bit closer.

Ausgris replaced his glasses and shoved them up the bridge of his nose. Though he repositioned his hands on the strings, no sound came out. "I like to think," he hesitated, "wherever she is now, she's still dancing."

Piko laid his hand gently on Ausgris's shoulder, and Ausgris looked up. He gave a small smile before picking at the strings, resuming his song. "I play for her. I play so she can dance in the rain."

Piko found himself at a loss for words. All of his questions had vanished like vapor, no longer on the tip of his tongue. He leaned his head against Ausgris's shoulder, and Ausgris sank into his touch. He was warmer than Piko had expected. Ausgris's heartbeat took the robot by surprise; it seemed to pulse through his whole body with a rhythm all its own.

As Piko closed his eyes and listened, the sounds around him came to life in a brilliant song: the whispering rain, the thumping beat of Ausgris's heart, and the rich strum of the guitar. They mingled together in a strange blend, disconnected and yet somehow in perfect harmony. No other song would compare.

Piko looked up, one last question on his mind. "Auggie?"

"Mmm?"

"Will you teach me to play?"


End file.
